


Christmas Kisses

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunkenness, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Holmes's university days. Pike attempts to convince Holmes that if they meet under the mistletoe they have to kiss because it’s the law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2011 and originally posted on Livejournal.

    Pike, leaning heavily against the doorway, clasped a goblet of wine in one hand whilst pressing the other against Holmes’s chest. “My dear boy,” he said, directing his gaze towards the top of the doorframe. “You  _are_  aware of just what we are standing under?”  
   
   Holmes looked up. “A portion of a plant.”  
   
   “Yes, and…?” Pike toyed with Holmes’s necktie.  
   
   “I believe it is mistletoe.”  
   
   “Indeed.” Pike stepped a little closer. “And?”  
   
   “And what?”  
   
   “Consider it, Sherlock. Consider the mistletoe.”  
   
   “You mean that it is parasitic and poisonous?”  
   
   “Oh dear boy, leave your propensity for dabbling with poisons aside for one night,  _please;_ it’s Christmas.” Pike moved even closer, pressing himself against Holmes. “When two people meet under the mistletoe you know that they simply  _have_  to kiss each other.”  
   
   “They  _have_  to?” Holmes said, raising an eyebrow.  
   
   “Mm…” Pike leant in closer, as if to confide some deep, dark secret in Holmes. “It’s the law.”  
   
   “I believe that the  _custom_  is limited to when a man and  _woman_  meet.”  
   
   “Pfft, a trifling detail, my dear Sherlock.” Pike waved his hand – the one grasping the goblet – in an attempt to demonstrate how unimportant this fact was, slopping a little red wine over its rim in the process. “So trifling that it may be easily overlooked, in fact, thus necessitating that when two men meet they must also kiss, just to be safe.”  
   
   Holmes wondered now if his friend was inebriated – highly probable; he  _had_  been at the punch all evening. “You’re drunk,” he said.  
   
    “However did you deduce that, my dear fellow?”  
   
   “And I am aware of no law that states that people must kiss under the mistletoe.”  
   
   “Oh Sherlock.” Pike rolled his eyes. “Honestly, it  _is_  the law. Would I lie to you?”  
   
   “Yes.”  
   
   “Well… all right, would I lie to you about this?”  
   
   “Yes.”  
   
   “Sherlock, you wound me with your lack of trust! I promise you that I’m not lying. I swear it on my mother’s grave!”  
   
   “Your mother is still alive. She’s in the next room!”  
   
   “Well, God’s honest truth, cross my heart, etcetera, etcetera. There truly is an ancient act of parliament that dictates that we simply must kiss, I’m afraid. I don’t  _want_  to but you know…” He gave Holmes a sly, sideways glance. “I dread to think what might happen if we don’t. Arrest; imprisonment; ruin! Oh the scandal, Sherlock, can you imagine it! Me, in gaol! Forced to dress like a common criminal, deprived of my ruffles! Imagine the horror of that!” Pike pressed the back of his free hand to his forehead dramatically before he abruptly seized hold of Holmes’s coat. “Oh Sherlock, darling, kiss me, quick! Before the police come to arrest us for breaking this archaic law!”  
   
    “I think that you-oof.” Holmes found himself shoved back against the wall by an enthusiastic (and drunk) Pike. Before he had time to protest this, Pike’s mouth was clamped over his, Pike’s tongue was in his mouth and Pike’s hands were tangling in his hair (and Pike’s now empty wine goblet was rolling across the carpet leaving a crimson stain in its wake).  
   
   It was nice. Sloppy, tasting of wine and the rather potent punch, but nice. He didn’t know why it was nice though – still could not discern just why, though it seemed so thoroughly pointless and he had never felt any need to engage in such acts with anyone of his own volition, it felt good when Pike kissed him and he didn't feel a need to stop him. Perhaps it was something to do with chemicals released in the brain when their mouths met.  
   
   “Sherlock, my dear boy,” Pike murmured after a moment.  
   
   “Yes?”  
  
   “Stop thinking so much. Stop analysing everything. Just kiss me.”  
   
    “I was thinking perhaps I should conduct a scientific study into kissing,” Holmes told him.  
   
   Pike paused. “Oh?”  
   
   “Yes, into why it feels pleasant.”  
   
   Pike pondered this for a moment. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You actually do wish to treat this scientifically.”  
   
   “Quite so.”  
   
   “Well, in that case, I volunteer my services, in the interests of furthering science.” Pike pressed his lips to Holmes’s again.  
   
   “I had assumed that you would.”  
   
   “Perhaps we should… retire to my bedroom, to… conduct further research up there,” Pike suggested, between kisses.  
   
   “Perhaps we should, yes.”  
   
   “This could take all night.”  
   
   “I don’t think so,” Holmes said. Truly he suspected that it would last about ten minutes before Pike passed out from the effects of the alcohol. “But yes, let’s retire upstairs.”  
   
   “Excellent.” Pike took hold of Holmes’s hand. “Come, Sherlock, come, science awaits!” he said, leading him out of the room, across the corridor and up the staircase.  
   
   Once at the top he swiftly resumed kissing Holmes, walking him backwards across the landing and then fumbling to find the door handle whilst his gaze remained fixed on Holmes’s face. The fumbling went on for some time, shortly followed by Pike cursing at the door.  
   
   “Oh for…” Holmes finally broke away from the kiss, spun about and turned the handle himself. “There.”  
   
   “Thank you. Now… where were we?” Pike shoved him into the room, kicked the door shut behind them, locked it, then pushed Holmes back on the bed. “Ah, here we are,” he said, crouching over him, looking predatory but amused. “Now to continue the experiment.”  
   
   Between kisses he managed to toss aside his own tailcoat and waistcoat, then tried to get Holmes out of his coat, reprimanding Holmes when he moved to do it himself. “No, darling, I’m doing this.”  
   
   “Pike! My arm does not bend that way!” Holmes pointed out as Pike attempted to disentangle his left arm from his coat sleeve. “This would be significantly easier if you allowed me to sit up.”  
   
   “But less fun.” Pike finally succeeded in yanking the coat out from under him and hurled it across the room.  
   
   “That is my best frock coat you’re trying to ruin,” Holmes complained, watching it land in a crumpled heap on the floor. “We don’t all have rooms full of clothes, you know.”  
   
   “Says the man who accidentally set his formerly best frock coat on fire last week,” Pike said, undoing Holmes’s waistcoat buttons. “Oh don’t look so glum; I’ll buy you another one; I’ll buy you two, three. Or…” he said, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “you can borrow some of mine.”  
   
   Holmes grimaced. Pike was inordinately fond of bottle green and purple shades in particular and tended to be more decorated and bejewelled than the Christmas tree even just for nipping out to buy cigarettes. Frequently Holmes wondered just how on earth anyone like Pike could have come to hold a significant place in his life.  
   
   He shifted his weight slightly now to allow Pike to pull his waistcoat off, watching him steadily as he did so.  
   
    Pike then removed Holmes’s necktie and undid his collar. “There,” he said, “that’s better.” He rocked back so that he was almost squatting over Holmes, his legs straddling Holmes’s hips. For ten seconds, or a little over, he just sat there, looking at Holmes’s face and wearing a fond smile.  
   
   “What?”  
   
   “Nothing.”  
   
   “Why are you regarding me so?”  
   
   “Dear boy, you are so very beautiful.”  
  
   “Pah,” Holmes said, though with a smirk and not quite as much conviction as he might once have given the exclamation.  
  
   “No, no, I mean it.”  
   
   “You’re drunk, Pike. Clearly the alcohol impairs your vision, or your reasoning.”  
   
   “I’m afraid not; it’s an inescapable fact, my dear Sherlock, that you are lovely.” Pike fell upon him then, grinning. “Now I want to kiss you again.”  
   
   “All right.”  
   
   “I want to kiss your mouth.” And he did. “Your jaw.” He kissed that too. “Your throat.” He kissed that, and felt Holmes swallow thickly. “Are you all right?”  
    
   “Mm, yes.”  
   
   “Is this scientific enough for you? I can put on a white coat and you can call me ‘doctor’ if that would help.”  
   
   Holmes barely suppressed a chuckle. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”  
   
   “As you wish.” Pike rolled off Holmes and settled himself on the bed beside him, nestling close to him, his head pressed into the crook of Holmes’s shoulder. “I would really like to strip you naked, of course.”  
   
   “Oh, Pike, I don’t…”  
   
   “And kiss every inch of your skin. Worship you with my mouth. Just kissing, I promise.”  
   
   “Pike, I still don’t think that-”  
   
   “And then…” Pike went quiet.  
   
   “And then what?” Holmes asked, unable to contain his curiosity, despite his wariness about just what Pike might say.  
   
   “And then…” Pike yawned. “Then I’d hold you.”  
   
   “Oh.”  
   
   “Although I fear I am far, far too drunk for any of that now, dear boy.”  
   
   “Yes, I think you are.”  
   
   “I’m sleepy now.”  
   
   “We should change properly.”  
   
   “Oh bugger that, Sherlock; I’m tired.” Pike snuggled up closer to him and draped his arm across Holmes’s chest.  
   
   Holmes lifted his hand and gently trailed his fingers through Pike’s hair. “Go to sleep then.”  
   
   “Will you stay?” Pike looked up at him hopefully.  
   
   “Yes.” Holmes shifted position briefly to reach down and snag the edge of the blanket, drawing it up over the both of them.  
   
   “Good.” Pike closed his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”  
   
   Holmes lay still, his arm wrapped around his friend, feeling Pike’s breathing becoming softer as he drifted away into sleep. “Merry Christmas, Langdale,” he said.


End file.
